Mark Darcy and the Overactive Imagination
by S. Faith
Summary: Mark turns his attention to family, and to a neighbourhood mystery.
1. Chapter 1

**Mark Darcy and the Overactive Imagination**

By S. Faith, © 2018, 2019

Words: 10,781  
Rating: M / R  
Summary: Mark turns his attention to family, and to a neighbourhood mystery.  
Disclaimer: So very much not mine, except for the words in this order.  
Notes: This assumes a timeline in which Mabel gets to her know her dad as more than stories and old photos.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

It wasn't one thing that brought him to the decision he made. Though try convincing anyone else of that.

"Are you… feeling okay?" This was a question he had been asked often.

"I'm fine."

"Was it something the doctor said? You're not… oh God, you're not _dying_ , are you?"

A small chuckle. "No, I'm not dying."

Many small things had contributed to the choice he'd decided to make. His newborn girl had become an alert, interactive infant in what had seemed to be no time at all. His infant boy had become a curious, active toddler. Violence had risen in the parts of the world to which he had often travelled for his cases, and he had encountered more close calls than he cared to consider. He was also keenly aware that he wasn't getting any younger.

He had always loved his work. But work was what had always filled his life because he'd had nothing else. Life had been empty. Lonely.

With a loving partner and two children, that was no longer true.

"So what are you going to do, Mark?" Bridget, his aforementioned loving partner, asked.

"Spend more time with you and the children."

She furrowed her brow. "You don't expect _me_ not to work, do you?"

"Of course not," he said. "But you don't have an insane work ethic."

"Gee," she said, her tone heavily sarcastic, "thanks a lot."

"I mean that in the best possible way," Mark said, taking her into his arms. "You're not a workaholic with your mobile practically welded to your ear. We're financially stable; we're lucky enough to not need to both work. We can do what we love to do."

She drew away, a look of confusion on her face. "And don't you love what you do anymore?"

"Not as much as I love having a family."

Tears welled in her eyes; she was obviously overcome with emotion at his admission. "So what _are_ you going to do," she said, sniffing, striving for levity, "be a house-husband?"

"I just might," he said drolly. "I haven't seen nearly enough of London's parks."

"This news does make me happy," she said. "I'm just so surprised, that's all. I never thought you could be persuaded to retire. I expected you to still be arguing cases propped up with a Zimmer frame."

"Priorities, darling."

She took a step back, smiling. "I just hope you don't get bored."

He spread out his hands, indicating the house around him, filled with toys and the sounds of active children. "How could I ever get bored?"

…

Mark Darcy was bored out of his mind.

He had indeed, much to everyone's surprise, retired from court cases over the course of a couple of months, working to transition those cases into the care of promising up-and-coming barristers. Shortly after the last day with his partners in chambers, he took his family on a much overdue holiday to Valencia on the south-eastern coast of Spain. It felt like a workaholic's detox. He had to train himself to stop looking at his mobile constantly. By the end of day two of the holiday, he had managed to break the habit, and thoroughly enjoyed his time out at the museum, the beach, and, in the evenings after the kids were asleep, spending romantic time alone with Bridget.

Once they had returned to London, once Bridget went back to work, he spent many hours in the company of his children. He watched more Disney films than he thought could possibly have existed. He praised so many slightly figure-shaped scribbles pronounced to be "Mummy" and "Daddy" that he lost count.

Make no mistake—he loved every moment of it. He got to enjoy the children's milestones, particularly of his youngest; his daughter Mabel's first words, his son Billy's stringing together of curious, intelligent questions. He finally even learnt the ins and outs of the kitchen in the house in which he had lived for years and years. He could now stride in and find the cabinet with the cutlery without hesitation.

But after a very short period of time, he found he was lacking intellectual stimulation.

Not that he didn't get plenty of stimulation from his darling wife, intellectual or otherwise. The thought of her always made him smile, even if the thought was along the lines of wondering what she up to now. He understood her need to decompress after her work day, and to spend time with the children; they still talked often and shared everything. He knew his need for adult interaction was getting desperate, though, when he started feeling like meeting her at the front door just to have a conversation with someone who spoke full sentences.

Bridget laughed when he told her that.

"You sound like Magda," she explained, still giggling.

…

Mark had made the acquaintance of his neighbours before—he'd given them a passing wave in greeting over the garden hedge or when checking the post—but wasn't entirely sure he even knew their names or what professions they were in. He realised he should make some kind of effort to befriend them, or at the very least, learn their names. It just seemed like the right thing to do. The neighbourly thing to do.

One day late in the summer, as the children were enjoying the pleasant weather in the back garden before dinner, Mark could hear voices in conversation floating over from the garden next door. He rose, thinking it would be a good time to make those introductions, particularly as this set of neighbours were newer and he didn't even think he knew them on sight.

He stopped in his tracks, though, when he realised the tenor of the conversation had taken a dark turn. They were not talking. They were arguing. One male voice; one female.

He couldn't quite make out the words, until the following rang out in a deep baritone clear over the hedge:

"No. I'm _warning_ you—do _not_ even think about it."

A door slammed, and then there was silence.

Mark drew his brows together. What had he just heard? He drew closer still, but no evidence remained of the man and woman who had just been arguing. As he ran his fingers back through his hair, he retreated to the house.

It was odd to hear so much commotion from such normally quiet neighbours, but after Bridget came home and they began to talk about their respective days, he didn't give it much more thought.

…

"Hi!"

Every time Mark took the children out in the double pram and down to the nearby park, Billy, aged three, liked to wave to and greet every person that they passed. _So much his mother's son_ , Mark could not help thinking.

"Hi!" Billy said again to someone new.

Mark smiled at them with a little nod and kept walking until they reached the park, then found a bench under a shady tree to rest. He took Mabel out to hold in the crook of his arm as Billy toddled around in close proximity to him.

"Hi!" Billy said once more to another stranger.

To Mark's surprise, the stranger said in return, her voice friendly and kind, "Well, hello, Billy."

Mark looked up quickly to see a woman standing there, chestnut brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail; sunglasses covered her eyes, and she was dressed in what he had recently learned was called 'active wear': a tee shirt, yoga pants, and trainers. If he had to guess, he thought she was probably in her mid-thirties. She held a lead, on the other end of which was a beautiful English Springer Spaniel. She lifted her sunglasses up onto her head. "And hello, Billy's… dad? I don't think we've met before, actually. I'm Emily."

"I am," he said, somewhat guardedly; "How exactly do you know my son?"

Emily laughed lightly. "Oh, I'm sorry, I should have explained. I met Billy through Bridget when we were moving in about a year ago. I'm your neighbour to the… left? Yes, to the left, if you're at the front door. We share a hedge."

It was the mention of the hedge that sparked his memory; the conversation-turned-argument of a few nights earlier. "Ah, yes," he said, his tone warming considerably. He got to his feet, held out his free right hand for a friendly handshake. "I'm sorry we haven't met before now," he said. "I'm Mark." He indicated his occupied arm. "And this _miraculously_ silent baby is Mabel."

"Oh, _Mabel_ ," said Emily. "Aren't you a doll?" The dog at Emily's side started to agitate a little, tugging at the lead. "And this impatient critter is Daisy. I'd better get her home. It was nice to meet you at last, Mark." She gave a little wave, then pulled her sunglasses back on. "Bye, Billy! Bye, Mabel!"

"Bye!" Billy said cheerfully.

Mabel made a happy burble in Mark's arm.

As Emily retreated, Mark only belatedly thought about her use of the word "we" when referring to moving in, wishing he'd asked about her partner, assuming the male voice Mark had heard was indeed her partner.

"I met our neighbours today," Mark said to his wife later that night. "Emily and Daisy."

Bridget's face brightened. "Finally," she teased. "They've only lived next door a year. What about Ian?"

Mark deduced this might be the partner, and decided not to mention the overheard argument; after all, it was probably meaningless in the grand scheme. "No, not yet," he said.

"Just a matter of time, I'm sure."

…

"You must be Mark."

Mark was sitting with the double pram in the park again when this greeting caught his attention. His head swung to see Emily (with Daisy at her side) standing next to a man, obviously the man who had spoken, because he was smiling as he raised his sunglasses.

"Yes," Mark said. "And you must be Ian."

Mark got to his feet to shake hands in greeting; Ian was about the same height as Mark, definitely younger, perhaps a bit more athletic, with reddish-brown hair and blue eyes.

"Pleasure to meet you at last," he said; only then did Mark notice the lilt of a Scottish accent in his voice. "Another fine day for taking the wee ones out for a walk."

Presently, the wee ones were so tuckered out from the walk that they were now soundly sleeping in the double pram. Mark introduced the children by name, and added, "Though I'm sure you've heard us say 'Billy!' time and again over the hedge."

Ian smiled. "They're beautiful children. Your little girl looks just like her mum."

Of course he had met Bridget before. "Thank you."

"Ian, we should be off," spoke up Emily. To Mark, she said, "Really nice seeing you again."

With a small, friendly wave, they headed off, Daisy trotting obediently by Emily's side.

…

For the next two weeks, it was like clockwork; Mark walking with the children out to the park, and Ian and Emily walking their Daisy. They exchanged waves; after the formality of introductions had been completed, it seemed they didn't feel the need to make small talk every day, and for that, Mark was grateful.

These daily encounters also afforded Mark the opportunity to observe their interactions as a study of human nature. It amused him to note that the couple reminded him of a ten-years-younger version of Bridget and himself. She talked and waved and chatted the entire walk while he listened attentively and stoically, and offered not much in response. But it was clear that they loved each other dearly; the tender way he slipped his arm around her shoulders or hovered around her waist, or the way he would anticipate, reach out, and lift a low-hanging tree branch so that she would not walk into it.

"Dada," came a small voice.

"Yes, Billy?"

"Can we get a Daisy?"

It took Mark a moment to realise he did not mean a flower. "You mean a dog," Mark corrected gently, watching said dog running after a thrown toy. "Daisy is a dog."

"Can we? I like Daisy."

"They're a lot of work, my boy," Mark said. "They need walking and feeding, playtime and baths…"

"Oh, I can give a bath!"

Mark tried to think of what to say in response, but the relative quiet around him was interrupted by heated, raised voices. Emily and Ian. Too far away for him to properly hear, but he could plainly see that their conversation had turned into an animated disagreement. His back was to Mark, but he could see her face, and she looked on the verge of tears.

Then she tugged on the dog's lead, and marched past where Mark and his children sat towards home. For his part, Ian stood there, running his hand over his face in what was frankly a familiar gesture. He then noticed Mark had seen him do it, and he offered an understated, sheepish smile.

"Sorry you had to see that."

"No need to apologise," Mark said.

"She's driving me completely insane," Ian said, unprompted. "When I ask her directly, she can't articulate," he said, sighing. "But I never seem to say the right thing."

"Oh, I know _that_ feeling well," Mark said. "Sometimes I find listening and saying as little as possible can help."

Mark had hoped this would lighten the mood, but Ian still looked disturbed.

"Whatever you do," Mark added, "don't let things linger."

Ian seemed a little speechless, then nodded. "Of course." He nodded, then headed in the direction that Emily had gone.

"Dada."

Mark's attention was drawn back to his children; this time, it was Mabel who called out for his attention. He smiled at her beaming grin.

"Day-thee?" asked Mabel.

He was doomed.

…

"It's funny," Bridget said later that night as they tidied up after dinner, "that the children have met Daisy before and heard her romping around in the next garden over for months, but now, suddenly a dog is all they talk about."

"I'm sure it's from seeing our neighbours and their dog every day in the park," Mark said, scrubbing the pan, rinsing it, then setting it into the drying rack. "I'll put them off until they stop asking about it."

Bridget laughed sharply. At his look of furrowed-brow confusion, she explained, "It's cute that you think that'll work."

He smiled. "One can but hope."

"Having a dog might not be a bad idea," she said. "Daisy is a sweetheart. We should consider it."

"I'll consider it," Mark murmured as he dried his hands on a kitchen towel. He hung it up, then turned to her. "Now to more important decisions," he said in all seriousness. "Pudding?"

"We shouldn't make a habit of it."

"I know," Mark said, striding to the refrigerator and pulling open the freezer door. "But you had a hard day, wrangling one of the more difficult public personas to grace our presence in many a year. You deserve a nice bowl of—" He plucked something out. "—chocolate ice cream."

She grinned. "You know the way to my heart, Mark. But perhaps… certain small people should be put to bed first."

"Right," Mark said, stowing the ice cream again. "I know my cue when I hear it."

"Right behind you. This is a two-person job."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Mark and the children continued to take their daily walk as they headed into autumn, even with a cloudy sky and the threat of rain. He didn't expect to see any of the usual friendly faces, but there they were; they must have realised, too, that they weren't going to melt if they got a little wet.

Mark had taken a perch on the same bench he had been taking since he had begun doing a daily walk. Billy was running around with a toy airplane in hand, blowing raspberries to imitate the sound of an engine. Mabel was sucking away on a bottle, drifting into and out of sleep.

When he spotted Ian heading towards where they sat, he was poised to raise his hand and wave, but he noticed that Ian was a million miles away. Mark's eyes darted to Emily; she too was distant and distracted, keeping a rein on Daisy. They weren't talking to each other. They were not even looking at each other. They passed by where Mark sat without the slightest acknowledgement of his presence.

 _That was odd_ , he thought, but everyone had their off days, and the weather was a bit grey, so he didn't assign much importance to this outlier.

When their demeanour remained that way the following day, and the next few days after that, it really began to register with Mark that something was not quite right. Mark considered speaking up and saying hi, but the metaphorical clouds around them were so thick he decided not to.

"Hi!"

Billy emphatically greeted the couple, or probably more precisely the dog, but the only response he received in return was a glance and a terse smile from Ian, who said nothing and kept moving. Emily was so far into her own thoughts she didn't even acknowledge Billy, with whom she had always been kind and friendly.

"Dada, they're not nice again today," said Billy.

At this astute observation, he turned and stared at his son, who was frowning. If Billy at the tender age of three had noticed the stark difference, then Mark hadn't been imagining things. He ran his hand over the boy's head, over his wavy brown hair. "It's nothing to do with you," Mark reassured him.

"Duh," Billy said, in almost perfect imitation of his mother. "I know."

"William," he said sternly despite his amusement, "do not say 'Duh' to your father."

"Sorry," he said, affecting a pout that was also very like his mother's. He then held up his arms to be picked up to sit on Mark's lap.

"They didn't even say hi to Mabel," said Billy, looking into the pram from his higher viewpoint. He then leaned against his father. "I wanted to pet Daisy."

"I'm sure you'll get your chance soon," Mark said.

At that moment, Mark's mobile chirped with a call from Bridget; he answered it at once, appreciating how few phone calls he got since he had retired from practising law.

"Hello, darling," he said with a smile.

"You may not want to call me 'darling' soon," she said darkly. "I have to… work late. I'm so sorry. It's unavoidable."

He chuckled a little. How many nights had he worked late during his career? "It's all right," he said.

"I hate giving you such short notice, though."

"We'll make do. Are you all right for dinner?"

"We're ordering in," she said. "Why don't you save for tomorrow what we had planned to make tonight, and just get some takeout, too."

"All right," he said. Thoroughly mundane talk, but he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. "I'll see you later. Love you."

"Love you, too."

He disconnected the call.

"Was that Mummy?" asked Billy.

"Yes."

He pouted. "I wanted to talk to her."

"She couldn't talk right now, but you know what?"

"What?"

"Mummy said we can get takeaway for supper," Mark said conspiratorially.

Billy's eyes went wide and his pout instantly transformed into a smile. "Happy Meal?"

Mark chuckled. "All right, special treat tonight."

"Yay!" he said, bouncing on Mark's lap.

It was time to head back to the house, so he got Billy to get back into his side of the pram. "What do you think Mabel wants?" Billy asked. "She's little. I could help her with her fries."

Mark couldn't help laughing a little.

…

"Daddy! Daddy! I got Snoopy!"

"Excellent," Mark said, grinning. He pressed the button to start the DVD. Special treat, that night, to eat on trays in front of the telly. The Mark Darcy of a decade ago would never have believed he'd allow food on the sofa in the sitting room. Bridget smirked at every 'special treat' in front of the telly with takeout and the children.

Honestly, there were more 'special nights' than he ever would've anticipated.

He had left them with Peppa Pig to go to the kitchen to refill their juice cups when the distinct sound of raised voices filtered in though the back garden. He could see the outline of figures moving behind the hedge, backlit by lights from their own house, but not much else as it was dark. It made him uneasy to witness, knowing that his neighbours were having another row after days of frosty behaviour.

He then heard the door slam once, twice, then saw the shadows of their two forms moving again, this time across the blinds inside the house. He saw them pacing back and forth, then saw an object fly through the air—

"Dada!"

Mark's attention was distracted by the sound of Billy's voice, and he turned to call out, "Be right there."

He looked back to the window, saw only one figure now, before the light went out in the room altogether.

He popped the lid back onto the cup, one eye on the window still, before deciding that whatever happened next door was over and all was quiet again. What had actually happened, though, he could only speculate. He and Bridget had had their share of arguments over the years, but had never resorted to throwing things at each other—

"DADA!"

Mark shook his head, breaking himself from the train of thought. Back to the task at hand.

…

"Not ready to go stir crazy yet?"

Mark was just drifting off to sleep when he heard her quiet voice close to his ear.

"Course not," Mark said sleepily. "Though I may have to consider that idea of yours."

"Which one was that?"

"Television legal consultant," he said almost reluctantly. "Or maybe I could do one of those… blogs, I think you called it?" He felt her chuckle beside him. "Just something to keep my mind engaged. Keep on top of legal precedence."

"If you're no longer practising, why does that matter?"

"For my own edification," he said. "I still need that kind of intellectual challenge."

He felt her brush fingers over the hair at his temple.

"You know, I—"

"Shh." She further quietened him by placing her lips on his; suddenly it didn't seem quite so important to mention the neighbours' fight.

…

"Hello."

It didn't occur to Mark until several days later that he had only seen Emily since the night of that argument, not Ian. He had seen Emily in the park and she had been more like her old self—over-compensatory, even. She had waved and offered a little smile when he said hello to her. As he did just now.

He was about to ask how Ian was, but she had moved briskly on—the dog was tugging hard at the lead—and she was soon out of range. With Mabel out of the double pram and standing unsteadily on two feet holding on to his hand, Mark could hardly catch up to the woman.

"Dada, I wanted to say hi to Daisy."

Mark looked down to Billy, who was clearly disappointed. "Maybe next time," Mark said. "Come on, back in. Time to head home." Mark rose, picking up Mabel to slip her into her side of the pram.

As Mark walked the short distance back to the house, his mobile began to buzz. He flicked his thumb over the screen to accept the call. "Hello, darling," he said. "Let me guess. Late night again?"

He heard only a sigh. "You're a psychic," she said. "I'm really sorry, Mark. I'm quite firm with the rest of the team that late nights are not going to be a regular thing. I didn't want to see you retire only to have me away into the night."

"It's quite all right," he said. "Two late nights in a week, after weeks of regular hours, is hardly cruel and unusual punishment."

There was silence, then, "Actually…"

"Bridget," he said. "Is it going to be more than two late nights?"

"Unfortunately, Mark, yes. Probably late hours the rest of the week."

He felt his jaw tense.

"See? You're upset. I'm sorry," she said.

He arrived at the house. "I'm not upset," he said, though in truth he was, just a little bit. Now he knew how she'd felt all this time. "I'm just coming home with the children, from our walk to the park. We can talk about it later, darling."

"All right," she said. "Love you. Bye."

"Love you too."

He ended the call, then let himself and the children into the house.

"Dada, snack time?"

A healthy snack after their afternoon walk was their habit, so Mark said, "Absolutely, little man."

Once he'd cut up an apple and some cheese for Billy, he portioned out a little bit of blueberry-flavoured yoghurt to feed to Mabel. After her last bite, she rubbed at her eyes and yawned; Mark ran his hand over her downy blonde hair.

"Right," he said. "Time for a nap."

He picked up Mabel, just as Billy slipped down from his booster chair. Altogether they filed upstairs; Billy put himself into his bed, and Mark tucked Mabel in.

With this short oasis of peace and quiet, he decided to sit and read a little for pleasure; a classic out of Bridget's library of fiction by Agatha Christie, one he'd been eyeing for some time.

…

Mark awoke to the sound of a great metallic clang, startling him out of a sleep he hadn't meant to fall into. It was dark—how long had he slept? Were the children all right?

What was that sound?

The children were fine—Billy was playing with his stuffed animals; Mabel, with her crib toys—so he decided to throw on a jacket, slip on his shoes, and venture out to see what had caused the sound.

By the time he got down to the street, it became immediately obvious what the racket was all about, given that no one else was around: parked at the kerb was a large SUV, the back hatch was open, and a figure was trying to hoist something up into the back.

He realised that it was Emily.

"Do you need a hand?"

His voice clearly startled her such that she dropped the end of what she was lifting, which what appeared to be some kind of foot locker or trunk. Fortunately, it landed on the street and not her foot.

Emily had a hand over her heart as if to keep it from leaping from her ribcage. "Good _lord_ , you frightened me."

"I'm sincerely sorry for that," Mark said, then gestured towards the trunk. "Looks like you're having a bit of a struggle getting that in there. I'm happy to help."

"No," she said quickly. "Nope, I'm fine, don't worry." She crouched, trying to get her shoulder behind one of the corners, and not having much luck of it. "Shouldn't you get back inside with the kids?"

"Really, it's no trouble," he said, then crouched down to grasp the other corner, which still rested on the pavement. In her surprise she stepped back as he raised it up high enough to push the trunk into the SUV. It was heavier than Mark expected it would be, and the strangest thing was—

"Well, thank you," she said tersely, reaching up to pull down the hatch, then walking around to the driver's side door. "I must be off."

"My pleasure," he said, though he was taken aback by her cool tone; she sounded anything but grateful. Emily then got in, fired up the engine, and drove away.

Mark stood there a moment, watching the receding taillights, wondering where she was going in such a hurry at this time of the evening, and why she hadn't asked her own husband to help her. He headed towards the house again.

As soon as he crossed the threshold he was reminded that he needed to attend to the children upstairs and that they would need dinner soon; he got to work at warming up some stew left over from the previous night, with some bread and butter on the side.

Once they'd eaten and were settled into some postprandial activities, Mark was able to spare a thought again to the somewhat bizarre encounter with Emily outside. Primarily he wondered why she was moving a trunk after dark. Why she didn't want his help lifting something that was clearly too heavy for her. Why she hadn't asked her own husband to help.

And yet, the strangest thing to him had been that whatever was in the trunk seemed to move around more than he would have expected. It almost felt like it was rolling, side to side.

…

"Hey."

Mark looked up from reading his book—during which he did not fall to sleep this time—to see that Bridget had arrived home. A quick glance to his watch told him it was nearly 11pm. He closed the book and got to his feet, took her into his arms. "You must be exhausted after your long day."

"You can say that again," she said wearily. "I don't know how anyone can do these long days without an end in sight. Kids already in bed? Oh, I guess they would be, this late."

"Mm-hm," he said.

"How were they tonight?"

"Wonderful, though they kept asking when you'd be home."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He gave her a quick kiss; his encounter with Emily came back to him, and he added, "Oh, I saw Emily tonight."

"Did you?" she asked. "I did notice her SUV was gone…" Bridget looked thoughtful. "Sometimes I wonder about her, poor Emily. I don't know how she bears it."

Before he had a chance to ask for elaboration, he heard the small voice of Mabel cry out for her mother. "Coming, sweetie," Bridget called back, then said to Mark, "We'll pick this up in a bit, okay?"

"Of course," he said.

He went and did his own ablutions while she was in with Mabel and then probably Billy, since he would somehow sense his mum in the room; he climbed into bed with the book to read while he waited.

She was fairly quick to return, but pointed to the _en suite_. "Just going to have a quick bath."

"All right, darling," he said with a smile, then returned to his book. A moment later he heard the water come on full bore. Another few moments later, he had fallen off to sleep.

…

"You know, Mark," Bridget said over breakfast, "you take up canasta, and that's the end."

"Pardon?" he asked, momentarily alarmed, but she was smirking.

"I only had a ten minute bath," she said, "and you… dead asleep." Now she laughed. "There was a time you would have turned down the lights, maybe put on a candle…" She waggled her brows.

He smiled too. "I'll make it up tonight."

"I'll hold you to that," she said with a wink. "Alas, for now, I must settle for a kiss." She rose then bent to give him a quick peck.

"Wait one moment," he said as he got to his feet. At her confused look, he added, "If I'm to settle for a kiss, I want more than that."

She smiled, then laughed. "If you insist."

He took her into his arms and gave her a lovely, proper kiss that left her a little pink in the cheeks when they finally pulled apart. "Mark Fitzwilliam Darcy," she said, touching her fingers to her lips, "you have _still_ got it."

It was his turn to wink. "Until later, darling."

"Bye, Mummy!" said Billy from his high chair.

She leaned to give him a little kiss on the head. "Bye, darling boy. I'll see you later." She ran her hand over the crown of Mabel's head, then bent to kiss her too. "Don't drive your daddy mental." At this Mabel made a happy little gurgling sound around the bottle in her mouth.

As Mark swept up the breakfast dishes, he began talking to the children. "So what shall we do today, hm?"

"Wanna see Daisy!" Billy said.

"We'll see Daisy if we see her," said Mark; he realised as he spoke that he hadn't heard the sound of the dog frolicking outside with her playful bark yet that morning. "Maybe let's have a walk before the rain starts. Maybe we'll see her at the park."

"Okay!"

Their walk was a little earlier than usual, but Mark had hoped they'd see Emily and Daisy out early, too. No such luck. Billy could not hide his frustration, and began acting cranky from the moment they began their loop back towards the house. Big drops of rain began to fall just as they reached the end of their street, but not even the rain got Billy to giggling again.

Even with the rush of getting into the house, Mark noticed that the familiar SUV was still not parked in its usual place.

Once they got inside, Billy didn't even want to play; he just sat near the French windows looking out at the neighbouring garden, waiting for the dog, pushing a wooden toy car back and forth on the carpet.

"Lunchtime, buddy," Mark said. Billy was still pouting, but he came when called. He ate his sandwich, and as he did, his morning-long frustration turned into sleepiness. It was easy enough to get the pair of them down for naps.

While the children napped he took advantage of the peace and quiet and began drafting an essay on recent legal decisions. About thirty minutes into his draft, he realised that the quiet was not so quiet anymore; he could hear a sharp sound, over and over again. He turned his head as if to try to triangulate from where the sound was coming… and he realised two things.

That it was coming from the direction of Emily and Ian's place, and that it was a dog barking.

He closed the laptop, slipped into his shoes, and made his way to the back garden and to the end of the shared hedge. He could see the closed drapes, move then one side of the drapes came open.

It was Daisy, and she was standing on the arm of a sofa, barking like mad, pawing at the windowpane. Mark could see now that he was closer that she had actually shredded the edge of the drape. Had she been indoors all day?

At the sight of him she stopped barking and just stood there on the sofa arm, wagging her tail.

"Hi, old girl," he said, though he had no idea if she could actually hear him. "Everything okay in there?" He could just make out sofa cushions and other items in the room scattered about. By the dog, or as a result of that fight he'd witnessed just the other night?

Daisy barked again just as a voice called out to him from behind: "What are you doing?"

He turned, startled, to see Emily approaching; she looked really haggard, her hair mussed and escaping in tendrils from the ponytail she usually wore, dark smudges under her eyes. She was wearing the same outfit he'd seen her in the night before: dark trackie bottoms and a hoodie. She was obviously confused but more angry than anything.

"I… I could hear Daisy barking from my office," Mark said. He could feel his face and neck involuntarily get hot with embarrassment. "I came out to make sure she was all right. We hadn't seen her outside all day."

She pulled her mouth tight, glancing to the window. Daisy was now excitedly jumping from the sofa arm to the seat and back again, tail wagging furiously, undoubtedly at the sight of Emily. "Why were you looking into the house?"

"I was concerned something was wrong, that maybe she'd hurt herself."

"Nothing's wrong, as you see," Emily said curtly. "I'm sorry she disturbed you."

Her unspoken dismissal hung between them.

He offered a nod, then turned and walked away back to the house. Only belatedly did he wish he'd asked about Ian.

…

"Daisy!"

Mark's head snapped up from where his attention had been focusing on Mabel drinking her bottle, to see Emily with Daisy trotting at her side. As they approached, Daisy noticed the children and started to wag her tail.

"Hello," Mark said tentatively, recalling their previous interaction, and not sure if he was still in her bad books.

"Hi, Mark," she said with a smile; she seemed better rested, her hair was brushed and pulled back once again into a sleek ponytail, and she was smiling. "Look, I wanted to apologise for yesterday."

"No need to apologise," he said. "It must have been strange to see a man standing at your window."

She laughed. "No, I do," she said. "You were just being a good neighbour." Her smile flagged a little. "Listen, about the other night… I was wondering if you maybe wouldn't mention the trunk I took away to anyone."

Mark didn't know quite what to say. A fading purplish-yellow spot on her wrist caught his attention, though, and he knit his brow. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, this? It's nothing, just caught Daisy's lead on my arm," she said, rubbing her arm, pulling her sleeve down to hide it. "Please, will you keep that to yourself? It's just that I don't want to worry anyone."

He thought about it a moment. He had no evidence of anything nefarious, aside from not seeing his neighbour Ian in nearly a week—and if push came to shove he would absolutely tell what he knew. "Of course."

She smiled, obviously relieved. "Thank you," she said.

"Dada, look at Daisy!" Billy said, giggling like mad.

Mark glanced to where Daisy was enthusiastically licking crumbs from Billy's fingers.

"Daisy likes crisps!"

"Oh, Billy," he said, reaching for the wet wipes to clean dog drool off of the boy's hands.

"I'm really sorry," Emily said, pulling Daisy back.

"It's all right," Mark said with a grin, looking up at her. "Kids will be kids, after all, and dogs will be dogs." He rose again, pitching the wet wipe into a nearby trash bin. "So I haven't seen Ian around…"

"He's been so busy," she said. "I've barely seen him myself." With Daisy tugging at the lead, she added, stepping in the direction that the dog wanted to go, "I best get on the way. This one knows fresh kibbles await her when we get home."

"Bye," he said. She waved again as she got further away.

He couldn't tell if she was lying or just being evasive, but the rapidity with which she had changed the subject certainly raised his suspicions; maybe a little bit of both.

Where was Ian? Why hadn't he seen the man since that overheard argument? And what had been in the trunk, rolling back and forth like…

Well, like a body?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

A kiss pressed to the centre of Mark's forehead woke him from sleep. He blinked a few times groggily to find his wife smiling down at him.

"Surprise."

"What time is it?"

"Sorry, it's just after midnight, but I'm just home," she said. "Last late night though, and I'm not working tomorrow. Surprise!"

He pushed himself up to sit. "Oh, brilliant," he said, then teased, "it'll be nice to see your face around here again."

She smiled, then brought her hand up to cup his stubbly cheek. "It'll be nice to see your face again, too. I've missed you. I've missed all of you."

"Go on, get ready for bed," Mark said. "And then come promptly back so I can give you a proper snuggle."

She grinned. "Yes, sir."

She was gone longer than expected, but he waited up anyway; he heard the water go on and off, on and off, and when she came back she was clearly freshly showered, damp hair and all. She slipped out of her robe and into the bed beside him, her skin soft and very warm.

"I decided it'd be best to get out all of the hair gunk, you know."

"The better to hold you close," he said, burying his nose into the hair at her temple.

"You didn't fall back to sleep," she said, her arms slipping around him, her nails raking at his shoulders lightly.

"Yes, well, I saw what happened the last time. The relentless teasing was too much to bear," he said in a light tone. "A man just needs a little motivation."

She giggled, stopping only when he kissed her. Perhaps it was more than a snuggle that they ended up sharing, but it was much-welcomed intimacy after such an irregular schedule. As they curled up in the afterglow, he could think about how many late nights with which he'd burdened her over the years, and in his guilt, he held her tightly to him.

"Something wrong?" she murmured.

"Not at all," he said, her hair silky against his cheek.

…

Mark woke at the feeling of Bridget stretching out, starfish-like, on the bed beside him. He looked to her just as her yawn subsided, and she noticed he was awake. "Sure does feel lovely to not wake to an alarm going off, doesn't it?"

"Mmm," he agreed, but then glanced at the bedside clock. "Maybe I should check on the children," Mark said. "When was the last time they slept clear through to nine in the morning? Have they ever?"

"They're fine. Listen," she said, pointing to the baby monitor. He could hear the faint babble of Mabel amusing herself in her crib. "If Billy wants something he'll let us know. Let's just enjoy a little bit of a lie in while we can."

"Excellent point, missus," he said, stretching out, too, reaching to curl up next to her, resting his head next to hers on the pillow and draping an arm across her waist. "This is lovely, indeed."

She turned her head to kiss him on the forehead.

It was not more than twenty minutes before Billy was calling out, "Dada! Mummy!" Reluctantly, they broke apart to slip into their respective clothes to start the day.

"It was nice while it lasted," she said, winking, as she tugged up her favourite lounge-about-the-house yoga pants.

It was after they all sat at the breakfast table, Mark feeding Mabel her yogurt and banana, Bridget assisting Billy who insisted on trying to feed himself but not always succeeding, did the pair of them swing out of autopilot. "What's on the agenda for today?" she asked, cleaning up Billy's mouth with a warm, damp cloth.

"I can guarantee that a certain someone will want to go to the p-a-r-k in a bit in hopes of seeing the d-o-g," said Mark, spelling out the key words in an effort to disguise his meaning.

"Excellent," she said.

Until it was time to leave for the daily walk, they decided to work together to do some household chores; he would never tire of how she could so easily make him laugh, even if it was at himself, even during the most mundane of tasks. Before he knew it, it was coming on time for lunch, after which it would be time for that walk.

And, he hoped, he could talk to Bridget about Emily and Ian.

As they proceeded out of the house, Mark spared a look to the house next door; oddly, he could see into the same window through which he had seen Daisy barking, and the room looked no different from when he'd spied it then. Cushions everywhere, torn drape edge… it was as if no one had tidied up the place after Daisy's rampage.

The day was beautiful, the sun bright, and the walk to the park seemed to be over in a flash. Billy took to running in circles; Mabel blew bubbles with her lips as she sat in her side of the pram.

"Bridget," he said as they sat on the bench; he turned in his seat to face her. "There's something I wanted to ask you about."

"Oh? What?" she asked.

"It's our neighbours."

She looked confused. "Yes, it is." She began to wave to someone behind him. "Hi!"

Mark whipped around to see what—or rather who—she was looking at. It was Emily, Daisy… and Ian. She was walking with her arm in his. The two of them looked blissfully happy.

Mark heard Bridget say from behind, "Hi!"

"Hello there!" said Emily brightly. "Nice to see you! You must have the day off."

"I do!" Bridget said. "So must you."

"Finally, after an eternity of night shifts," said Ian with a grin.

Bridget asked, "You're looking awfully chipper. What's going on?"

"I— _we_ —have got some fantastic news!" said Ian. He splayed his hand over his wife's abdomen. "We're having a baby!"

Bridget squealed, leaping to her feet. "Oh my _God_! That is fantastic! You've been trying so long…" She hugged her friend; Mark felt a little sheepish at the thought that she knew so much more about their lives than he did.

"I know, I know…" She let go, stepping back; her face was beaming her utter joy. "I have only got the test results back."

"So how far along are you?" Bridget asked.

"Almost four months," Emily said.

"Oh! How _exciting_ for you!"

Ian spoke up. "We should get home," he said. "You need your rest."

Emily rolled her eyes, but smiled, rocking with the pull of the dog. "I'm not a porcelain doll," she said with a laugh. "But we _should_ get back."

"I'm so happy for you both," Bridget said. "Hopefully we can talk again soon, okay?"

"Absolutely. Bye!"

The pair of them watched the expectant couple and their dog walk away.

Mark was speechless. How had he got it so very wrong?

…

Knowing that Ian had not in fact been murdered, oddly enough, did not fully satisfy Mark's curiosity. Mark was happy to have been wrong, and happy that they were expecting the baby that had wanted for so long, but he still wanted answers to explain all of the odd things he had observed and had so disastrously misinterpreted. Frustrating him, however, was the fact that he couldn't outright ask. What could he say? "Hello, neighbour! I thought you murdered your husband and were trying to move the body into your SUV that night. Funny, right?" Surely such an admission would make summer cookouts more than a bit awkward.

Ian's explanation of working a week of night shifts explained part of it. Working as what, Mark didn't know, but it filled in some gaps, anyway.

He got more answers later that night. Bridget's mobile began to buzz from where she'd set it on the countertop as they cleaned up after dinner, after putting Billy and Mabel to bed. She snatched it up and brought it to her ear, but not before he'd seen the name displaying on the screen: _Em next door_.

"Hey!" she said with a grin, then sat and silently listened while Emily spoke to her, glancing up to Mark. "Well yes, of course we would!" A few more exchanges—such as "Friday night? Perfect! What shall we bring?"—told him that they had been invited next door for some reason. After saying their goodbyes, Bridget disconnected the call.

"So," Mark said. "Dinner? Drinks party? Game night? Who can we wrangle to babysit?"

"Dinner, _with_ the children."

Mark could not contain his surprise. "Are they looking to get a little practise in before the baby comes?"

"Well, they know the children love Daisy, and she's so good with them." She picked up a plate to load it into the dishwasher, but paused, looking slightly distressed. "You know, Mark, I should probably fill you in on some background. I probably should have done this a while ago, to be honest, but I didn't know what you didn't know."

Mark leant against the countertop, but offered her a smile. "Please, do enlighten me, because I feel lost."

"Right," she said. "So Emily and Ian have been trying to conceive for a while, and she confided in me, because I had mentioned to her how much trouble we'd had with Billy. Between the busy schedules, day shifts and night shifts, sometimes not seeing each other for a week…"

"Hold right there," Mark interrupted, holding up a hand. "What are their professions? What do they do?"

"They're surgeons."

Another surprise for Mark.

"I'm sorry," she continued. "I thought you knew that."

"Assume I know nothing about them except for their first names, their address, and that they have a dog called Daisy."

Bridget looked sheepish, but went on. "The added complication was: after finally getting pregnant, would the genetic issues crop up that had ended a previous pregnancy? I'm sure it was very, very stressful for them both. I'm sure she felt a failure."

He considered asking about the genetic issues, but realised that, in the end, it was not germane to anything and certainly none of his business. He knew Bridget well enough to know that she did not think anything Emily had done was to blame.

Bridget continued, "So their announcement today must mean that the baby's healthy. I don't think she would have told Ian, otherwise. She would have wanted to be sure."

Mark nodded. Being unable to conceive was difficult enough… and add to that the pain of additional possible problems well beyond her control… he understood completely. And the light came on. That's what Bridget had meant when she said she didn't know how Emily could bear it. She was not bearing abuse or mistreatment, though it was a natural place for his mind to go, given the line of work he had done for so long. Emily, working those long hours and erratic shifts, the desire to get pregnant coupled with being unable to… and the possible additional complications when they finally succeeded… it would have been quite stressful. Quite difficult to bear, indeed.

Mark's outstanding confusion was beginning to clear. He would have to hope that he could ferret out enough information to make sense of it all.

…

When the children learnt of the Friday night dinner invitation, their excitement could barely be contained. This excitement was the primary reason why Bridget did not tell them about it until early Friday afternoon.

"Day-thee!" shrilled Mabel at top volume, throwing her arms up over her head as she began to run around in her wobbly way, knocking over her baby cup where it sat on a coffee table. This set Billy off with a shriek of his own, and within seconds the siblings were feeding each other's frenzy, running playfully around the coffee table, giggling happily.

"Children!" Mark said, his voice loud but not angry; they ceased movement and went instantly silent, staring up at him. "We can't run around and shout when we go next door for dinner. It's not polite, and dogs like Daisy do _not_ like loud voices. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Dada," Billy said quietly.

Mimicking her brother, Mabel said, "Yeth, Dada."

"I don't know how you do that," Bridget said quietly. "Instant silence from them."

"All those years, projecting in court," Mark said with a small smile.

Bridget burst out with a laugh. She continued in that same tone, "If they stay quiet, maybe we _should_ get a d-o-g." Resuming her normal voice, she said to the kids, "So, my angel babies, let's clean up and get ready for tonight… and let's continue to practise our dinner-guest voices, shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Mark reiterated.

Mark gathered up Billy, Bridget slung Mabel on her hip, and together they ascended the stairs toward the bath. "So what are we bringing tonight? I suppose a bottle of wine would be a little mean."

"She said not to worry about bringing anything," Bridget said, "but it seems wrong to show up empty-handed. So I ordered a little something from the patisserie."

He knew the one. They had spent enough money there during Bridget's pregnancies. "I'll go pick it up when we're done with the kids," he said.

"Great. Oh, but I'll need to get ready."

"Put on a video."

Bridget gave him a shocked look, and he wondered why for a split second, until she said, "You're starting to sound like me, that's all. All right, my darlings. We'll wash up, then put on Spongebob."

"Thpongebob!" Mabel parroted enthusiastically.

…

"Oh my God, Patisserie Valerie. You shouldn't have," said Emily, her eyes wide, "but I'm awfully glad you did." She took the box that Mark offered to her. "Thank you." She opened the top of the box. "Raspberries and chocolate. Oh my. This baby's going to be spoilt."

Bridget smiled. "As well this baby should be!"

"Cake?" Billy asked, obviously hopeful.

"After dinner," Emily said, then handed the box to her husband. "We've got Daisy in the sitting room right now… I didn't want her to knock you all over on entry. And imagine what she would have done to that poor cake. Come on. Let's go see her!"

Excitedly, the children went with Emily and Bridget. Mark noted that the layouts of their homes were not that different.

Mark wondered if the sitting room was where Daisy was kept when they were not at home. This could explain why the room seemed to be a little worse for wear when he'd seen it through the window. Instead of going with them, though, Mark decided to follow Ian and go down to the kitchen, offering to help in any way he could. He would see the sitting room later.

"Thanks, mate," said Ian, who went over to slip the boxed cake into the fridge. "If you want to slice the bread, I'll pull out the sparkling apple juice and the glasses."

"Oh, I'm sure the children will love that," Mark said. Mark noticed that the table near the kitchen was laid out with six chairs, two of which had booster chairs for the kids. There was a salad and a couple of other covered serving dishes. "We could have brought over the high chair," Mark said.

"No, no worries," Ian said. "We have wee nieces and nephews that we keep these on hand for."

Mark smiled as he took the bread knife and the loaf, which was still warm. "You must have been very surprised by Emily's announcement."

"You can say that again," he said with a laugh. "I absolutely could _not_ figure out what was going on with her. If I'm honest… it was driving me mental. And I'd ask her about it, and she'd be so evasive." He lowered his voice. "I would get close, and she'd pull away. I know now it's because she didn't want me to guess that she was pregnant yet. She wanted to make sure there weren't any problems, poor love. But everything makes sense now."

Mark nodded, then pressed on, because he knew it was probably his best chance to get information. "Did that… cause much tension? I thought I heard raised voices over the hedge."

"Oh, Christ," Ian said. "I'm so embarrassed. Yes. We did have words, but nothing serious. She would be so touchy about the slightest thing. Obviously, I know why now. But she wouldn't speak to me for entire afternoons. Walking Daisy in utter silence was miserable."

"Yes," Mark said, recollecting the distant expressions on their faces during their silent walks.

"Aw, you saw that too," Ian said. "I'm mortified."

"Don't be," Mark said. "I'm sure working long hours didn't help."

"Long hours," Ian said, "and opposite shifts. Me overnight, and her during the day. We would barely see each other except for the changing of the guard, and when we did, we were sniping at each other… or we said nothing at all. I was a bit worried. I love Em more than anything, but I didn't know what on earth to do. It felt like we were being pulled apart and that was the last thing in the world that I wanted."

Mark remembered well some of the icy receptions he had himself received from Bridget when arriving home late from the office. He didn't miss that, not at all. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," Mark said quietly, then found himself offering, "If you ever need a friendly ear, don't hesitate to knock on my door. Or call. Or text."

Mark glanced over to see Ian smiling with genuine emotion. "I hope things never get that bad again," said Ian, "but I'll keep that in mind."

"When a baby comes, things can get a bit stressful, mostly because you know it should be the happiest time of your life, and it's a lot of hard and sometimes thankless work," Mark said. "We're right next door if you need anything."

"That means a lot, mate," said Ian, chucking Mark on the shoulder in a friendly way. "If I could trouble you to go up for them…"

"No trouble at all," Mark said. "Be right back."

Mark scaled the stairs then approached the sitting room. The door was open but only a sliver. He was about to push it open but stopped at the sound of the women's voices in conversation.

"So when did you suspect?" Bridget.

"When I started… nesting, for lack of a better word. I started clearing out old stuff. Especially old stuff that might pose a hazard. Like that bloody punching bag. _Jesus_. I can't tell you how many times I walked into that thing when I'd go into that room, and then it would bounce back and nearly knock me over. He hasn't used it the entire time we've been together. He warned me that I'd better not get rid of it, but I don't even think he's noticed it's gone yet."

They both chuckled. "Been there, done that," Bridget said. "We've all done it. _I've_ done it. Mark still hasn't noticed, five years later."

Mark was stunned. What hadn't he noticed was gone? He didn't have much time to ponder it, though.

"If I'd actually known for sure I was pregnant," Emily went on, "I _never_ would have wrestled a 100-pound punching bag into a trunk and into the SUV."

Another light went off. More questions answered.

"I was so worried Mark might say something to Ian," Emily said, "but thank goodness he didn't. I did ask him not to say anything. I realised in hindsight that it probably did seem a bit fishy, me moving this thing out under cover of darkness…"

Bridget chuckled. "If you asked him not to say anything, he wouldn't have. He didn't even mention it to me."

Mark rapped on the door jamb, paused, then entered the room. "Dinner is served," he said.

The children were sitting and petting a very calm dog, almost mesmerised by Daisy, while the women were chatting on the sofa. Mark noticed that the room had been tidied up considerably from the mess he'd seen through the window, new drapes and all. Bridget looked up and smiled, then giggled. "Mark, you may just have missed your calling in life as a manservant."

Mark couldn't help smiling. Emily smiled, too.

"Billy, Mabel," Bridget said, "come on, time for dinner."

"Daisy, too?"

"Daisy has to stay here," Emily said. "Unfortunately, she has terrible table manners, and she shouldn't eat what we're eating."

Dinner turned out to be ravioli and tomato sauce with heaps of grated parmesan. Billy and Mabel were incredibly well-behaved, ate what they were portioned, and didn't start pestering for cake the minute they'd cleared their plates. Mark could only think that the advice about inside voices had really been taken to heart, at least by Billy; Mabel tended to follow his lead.

"We'll put on some coffee to have with the cake—sound all right?" Emily asked.

"Decaf, if you have it," Bridget said.

"Of course," she said. "And for the little ones?"

"Some milk will do, thanks."

Ian and Emily went back to the kitchen, and before long, Emily brought out the cake and unboxed it, and only then did Mark truly see what a lovely cake it was: a smooth edging of what looked like dark chocolate ganache around the sides and loaded with fresh raspberries on the top. The children looked on in awe as Emily sliced into it and drew out a wedge, revealing two layers of chocolate sponge cake with a cream filling as well as a raspberry filling.

"Yummy," said Billy.

"Split one of those for the kids," directed Mark.

Ian came with the milk glasses, then a few minutes later, returned with a tray with the coffee, mugs, and all of the associated trimmings. It wasn't long before much praise was offered by all about the cake, which was deemed "better than even our wedding cake" by Emily.

"I am this close to saying that about ours," Bridget said. "Birthdays will be for ever spoilt."

"Unless we get our cakes from there," Mark said.

"Don't have to convince me."

…

"The mystery is solved," said Bridget as she came to bed that night.

"Oh?"

"As to the angelic behaviour tonight," Bridget said.

"It wasn't the powerful motivational speech we gave them?"

"Sadly, no," she said as she slipped under the sheets beside him. "As I was tucking Billy in, he asked me if we could get a Daisy. He laid out his case, reminding me how good they were tonight, petting the dog gently and not shouting and scaring her."

He was his father's son as much as his mother's. "Perhaps we should ask Emily or Ian where they got Daisy, as I fear we have been defeated," he said.

He reached over and switched off the main light, leaving only the flicker of a candle.

Bridget curled up into the crook of his arm. "Did you have a good time tonight?"

"A really good time. It was great to get to know them better. Ian's a good guy. We talked a bit in the kitchen. Told him we're here if they need anything. Told him to call me if he needs to talk."

"I thought you might get to talking down there," she said softly. "I'm glad to hear that, though. I think Ian's family's all back in Scotland, so to have someone to lean on closer to home…" She trailed off, turning to him, stroking his face. "Have I told you lately what an amazing man you are, and that I love you?"

"You might have done," he murmured with deliberate understatement; as she reached to kiss him, he continued, "Speaking of mysteries… I have a bit of a confession to make."

"Confession?" She drew back. "Sounds serious."

"It is, in hindsight, the opposite of serious."

"Well, now I'm intrigued. Do go on."

"I… perhaps let my imagination get away with me," he began, then explained everything: the arguments he had overheard, what had seemed to be a threat; the stony silence and chilly attitude between the married couple; witnessing what he'd thought was an assault; helping load the heavy trunk Emily had been attempting to put into the back of the SUV; the apparent disappearance of Ian; the strange behaviour of Daisy and of Emily in the days to follow said disappearance; the evasive answer about the bruise on her arm.

"So what are you saying?" she asked, but didn't give him a chance to answer. "Oh my God. Did you… did you think she'd _murdered_ him and put his _body_ in the trunk?"

Sheepishly, he nodded. She then began to laugh, covering her mouth so as not to wake the kids. "Mark," she said after a few moments, after she'd regained her breath, "I don't think I'll ever understand how you went from witnessing a minor argument between a sweet, young couple, to imagining that tiny woman murdering her towering husband and stuffing him into a trunk."

Mark pinched the corners of his eyes, though he was smiling. "I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

"Nope," she said, then smiled, sidling up close to him again, pressing herself up against him.

"Please don't tell them," Mark said.

"Your secret," she said, pausing to plant a kiss on his lips, "is safe with me."

The end.


End file.
